Red Conciliation
by lysjelonken
Summary: Lisbon is leaving the CBI for New York, and Jane isn't taking it well. Will he ever see her again? Jisbon, multi-chap
1. Chapter 1

**Red Conciliation**

**So I haven't written for a little while now… But here I am! This concept hit me this morning and I couldn't stop myself.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still nothing. Trust me, I'd tell if I suddenly magically acquired owning rights to The Mentalist.

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The attic of the CBI is dormant and dust-covered. Patrick Jane lies on his makeshift-bed; his arm folded behind his head.

Thinking.

Teresa Lisbon is leaving the CBI.

Leaving. Forever.

Why was this concept so unbelievably strange in his mind? So impossible? Surely somewhere in a corner in his _mind-castle_ he must've known that sometime, _someday_, she'd have to leave?

Cops don't stay in one bureau, department, whatever forever. They moved around every once in a while.

Fresh start, new city, she said. California was getting tiresome.

She was going to work in the city, in New York. The other side of the country (neigh, _continent_).

And he was feeling a painfully familiar sense of loss.

Downstairs, he heard the abnormally loud conversations. Tonight was her going-away party. Just a small get-together in the conference room for the team and some other agents who feel like socializing over beer and (her last) case closed pizza. He came up here after about twenty minutes of listening to memorable moments of Lisbon's career in the CBI (the majority involving her getting him out of some ridiculous situation). It got too much for him.

Footsteps, outside his door. They're light and crisp: it's hers.

She knocks lightly, but doesn't wait for an answer before she opens the door. "Hey. You disappeared." It wasn't accusing, more of a simple statement. As if she was telling him that the sky is blue.

"Yeah." He said, looking up, but not making any move to go back downstairs.

"Why?"

"I don't like big parties."

She chuckled, amused. Gestured for him to sit up and scoot over on his little bed. "It's hardly a big party. It's pizza with the team…"

"And half the CBI."

"Jane, I'm leaving tonight."

He looked down, staring at a crack in the floor. "Yeah… I remember."

"So why don't you come and have a beer with us? For old time's sake. You can even have tea."

His turn to chuckle, as he looks to her. Her bright, green eyes are set straight in front of her, stubbornly ignoring his gaze. He's going to miss her eyes, he realizes. When they blaze green fire when she's yelling at him, or when they're shyly diverted downward as her cheeks tinge pink.

"I'm going to miss you, Lisbon." He says, his voice lament and soft.

And then she turns to catch his eye and smiles. "I'll miss you too."

Her smile is comforting and warm; like sunshine, glimmering over his dark, cold world.

A moment passes in which they don't break eye contact, just sit in comfortable, companionable silence.

Then she cracks another smile and pats his knee. "Now come on. I'll never forgive you if you miss this."

"If I miss this, will it make you stay?"

She doesn't answer, just keeps walking to the door and opens it; waves her hand to the doorway, as if to say 'After you'.

He sighs and gets up, his intention to have one slice and a cup of tea before retreating back to his thinking cage.

He stays downstairs the entire night – falling asleep on his leather couch after a few too many shots of tequila that appeared out of seemingly nowhere. And when he wakes up, the morning sunshine is already illuminating the bullpen.

And her office was empty.

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**Next chap will be a few years in the future, when he meets up with her again, promise! Please review, they're happiness-messages! :)**

**Much love, Zanny**


	2. Chapter 2

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 2**

**In here, you will meet Lisbon's new team (including a little surprise for you jealous-Jane-lovers like me!) There will also be the set-up for their reunion! :D**

**Also, I'd like to thank all of you awesome reviewers! Day. Made. I hope this chap sets your minds at rest.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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_2 years later, in the NYPD building_

"I'm sorry Teresa, but we have no choice." Jim Reid, the head of the Serious Crimes

"Please sir, just give me another shot. Every time he shows himself, we get closer and closer to getting him. We're so close, sir…"

"I know, I know… But we've been getting a lot of pressure from the higher ups. You and your team have had this case for almost two years now and the rare leads you get turn into nothing. And we can't afford to lose anyone else." His eyes flicker down to her abdomen; the thick bandage wrapped around her waist is visible beneath her sweater. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Teresa. Better than you have tried and failed to catch this guy. The case is becoming more of a liability than ever before, and the smartest thing we can do his swallow our pride and hand it to the feds."

She sighs and sinks back into her chair, her lips pursed together in frustration. Then her eyes light up with an idea.

Outside the office, three men stand outside the door. They try to look as inconspicuous as possible, but they're all but pressing their ears against the door to hear the conversation.

"What did she just say?" The one asks, earning a chorus of hushes from the other two.

When they hear her sharp footsteps approach the door, they scatter across the hallway. One stands behind the water cooler, one starts chatting with a PA and the other uncertainly tries to head in every direction, before deciding to simply stand in the hallway, looking very much awkward and out of place.

The door opens and Teresa Lisbon walks out, thanking her boss once again as she leaves. When she turns around, she sees her three colleagues.

"You know, for police officers who investigate crime on a daily basis, you three are extremely un-sneaky." She says with an amused smile.

"What Reid say?" Guise asks. He and the other two men, Ross Weekes and Warren Kings, fall in behind her as they walk back to the bullpen.

"He wants to hand the case to the feds."

"What? No, he can't do that! The case is ours; we're so close to nailing him."

"I know, I know. But I got us one more shot."

"How'd you do that?" Weekes asks.

"If we call in a consultant, we get to have one more try. But if he strikes again and we hit a dead end again, we're over. Then the FBI comes in and take it." She said, turning to lean on a desk as they reach the bullpen, her arms crossed.

"So, then we're hiring a consultant."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Reid won't let us add another job to the payroll for a case that's considered dead. So I'm calling in a friend of mine. Patrick Jane. We used to work together in Sacramento."

"We know who Patrick Jane is." Kings says. "His name is in the news all the time. All kinds of indiscretions. Are you sure you want to call this guy in?"

"Trust me, I know he's unconventional and… indiscreet." She smiles lightly at the word. "But I worked with Jane for years. And he closes cases like a machine. And I'm more than willing to go through a few weekends worth of paperwork if we can get this case solved."

"How do you know he'll agree?"

"He'll agree." She said, offering no motivation.

The three men don't seem to mind, and they nod at her confidence. "Alright, Boss, we trust you."

And they head back to their desks to finish up their work – all but Ross Kings, who (peering over his shoulder) discreetly follows her into her office.

"I think this is a bad idea." He says once he closed her office door.

"Really? Tell me more." She said, sarcasm dripping off her every word, as she smiles with amused familiarity.

He isn't offended. "Seriously, Tess, this guy is a _bad idea_. I've seen his record, I've read his file."

"You _read _his file?"

"His name came up a lot in yours."

"You read _my _file?"

"Please, Tess, not the point." He says, shaking his head. "Don't do this."

"Ross, I've handled Jane before. I dealt with all his crap for more than four years at the CBI. I dealt with the paperwork, with the pissed off families, with the pissed off _authorities_…" She lists, exasperation filling her words more and more with every moment.

"Then why would you want to put yourself through that again? Why don't we just hand the case off to the feds? It isn't like there isn't enough cases to go around."

"You don't understand, Ross. I know Jane could be a pain. But he's my friend. And I know he's the person who can solve this case."

Ross Kings sighs perturbed and paces slowly across her floor. "I guess I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Have you ever?"

He smiles fondly. "Nope. I'll see you tonight for dinner?"

"Yeah. See you tonight."

And he discreetly slips out of her office.

X

Patrick Jane lies on his brown couch in the corner of the bullpen. Dozing. Observing.

In the corner, on the desk that used to be Cho's, a rookie is typing away.

In the office that used to be Lisbon's, Cho is handling the mountain of paperwork, supplied by Jane's latest indiscretion. Feeling extremely out of place.

After she left two years ago, Cho was promoted to Senior Agent, as everyone expected. For a few months, the only thing that changed was the voice and face of the person who lead them with a case. Her office was left empty, because Cho thought it didn't feel right. But when Hightower hired a new rookie, she figured out that he'd been working in the bullpen and told him to man up and sit in the office already. So he did.

Two years… It's been two years. Strange, it felt like an eternity.

Her leaving turned out to be quite the traumatic event for him. It split everything in before-Lisbon and after-Lisbon. After all this time, it still felt like a part of the team was missing.

How many times has he stared at the phone? Wanted to call her and beg her to come back. He regretted more than anything not making her stay that night of her going-away party? Or at the very least, demanded a more satisfying explanation than 'I'm tired of the city'? He felt like a child whose best friend moved away.

His thoughts were interrupted when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him that he's got a new text message.

He sighs and fishes the phone out of his pocket; it's probably Rigsby, who's gone out to get lunch for everyone. Probably forgot what Jane asked for.

But when he looks at the phone, the name on the screen isn't Rigsby's. And the shock almost throws him off his couch.

"CHO!" He calls.

The Asian man comes running out of the office. "Jane? What's wrong?"

"I just got a text message."

Cho's shoulders visibly sags tiredly. "Really? You sounded like you were being attacked by an axe murderer. Please man, we've got work to do!"

"No, Cho-… Wait, why would there be an axe murderer in the CBI?"

Cho shrugs. "To make consultants scream like little girls?" Van Pelt and the rookie chuckles.

"My text message is from Lisbon." Jane says, suddenly serious.

"The boss?" Cho asks, walking to Jane confused.

"The boss?" Van Pelt excitedly jumps up from her seat, also making her way to Jane and his phone. "What does she say?"

"I don't know, I haven't opened the message yet."

"Well then, open it, idiot!"

Tentatively, disbelievingly, he pressed the button on his phone and opened the message.

For a few moments, he sat silently, staring at the screen.

"What did she say?" Van Pelt asked, craning her neck to try and read the message.

On the screen of Jane's phone, were words Jane never expected to read. And they sent a surge of strange hopefulness vibrating through his veins.

_Hey. I know it's been a long time since we talked, but I've got a case here in NY that we really need help on. Could you call me? TL_

"I… I think she wants me to go to New York."

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**So that's chap 2… Took me a lot of hours I could've been doing homework to write, so better give plenty of reviews! :) **

**Much love, Zanny**


	3. Chapter 3

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 3**

**Thanks to all my fantabulous reviewers! You guys make the sun shine brighter with your lovely words of niceness. 16 Reviews at only 2 chapters - that's pretty awesome of you guys. **

**Disclaimer: Nope, still nothing.

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**

JFK Airport was wide and white and vibrating with people and activity. Patrick Jane sat on a bench, observing the stream of people passing him while he waited. Beside him his single brown leather suitcase lay, filled with three piece suits and deodorant. There wasn't really much more that he needed.

"Marie, don't daddle. We're running late as it is!" A woman said, passing him. Behind her a much younger, mousy-haired woman struggled with a bag twice her size. An overindulgent businesswoman (he observed), who used to be diligent and meticulous. Money and power turned her into a power-crazy bitch, running on the adrenaline of being in charge and the hefty check at the end of the year. The assistant running behind her is her, ten years ago. Innocent, over-ambitious, struggling with her daddy-issues…

He watched them for a while, before he turned his attention to the man standing in the row of customs. Shifty eyes, his fingers trembling only slightly – he was smuggling something. Probably just a bag of coke or something; he's not an experienced smuggler, it's just a young man's risk he's taking. Not very wise of him…

He was still people-watching, when he saw her.

She was weaving through the crowds with the same insistence and cool confidence that she's ever had.

And she looks amazing.

Her hair is just a little bit shorter than before; glossy, black, waving curls, cut to right above her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and green and alive. She wore a purple tank top under her usual blazer.

Then she saw him and their eyes met; a smile lit up her face.

The feelings that smile initiate makes him uncomfortable; the wedding ring on his left hand ring finger stings.

She started making her way towards him and he stood up to greet her. They met in a smiling, friendly hug. It felt nice to be close to her again, to smell her cinnamon scent. He closed his eyes, encircled her slender waist with his arms and enjoyed the presence that he's missed so much in the last two years.

"Jane! How was your flight?" She asked, laughter in her voice, while she was still in the hug.

He felt her arms loosen around his neck, and combined with her words, he reluctantly took the hint and let go of his tight hold of her.

"Teresa! You look well…" _Very well…_ He thought. _Fantastic, even._ "My flight was good."

"C'mon, let me introduce you to my new team." She said, smiling, and leads him out of the tangle of people, out the doors. There, next to a white SUV striped with blue, stood three large men dressed in suits.

"Patrick Jane, this is Joshua Guise…" She waved him towards a tall, lean blonde man with an intense blue gaze and a firm handshake to match. He smiled pleasantly, at meeting.

"It's nice to meet you."

"Warren Weekes…" She waved to the next man; a tall, sturdy, African-American man with a much gentler, much more fluid approach.

He extended his hand and cordially shook hands. Eldest of a large family, Jane deducted; a caretaker. Younger sisters, probably, at least two or three.

"A pleasure." Jane said, with a smile.

"And Ross Kings." Lisbon's voice wavered slightly – barely noticeably, he almost penciled it as simple nerves of him meeting her new team.

"Nice to meet ya." A New York accent.

Ross Kings was a muscularly built New York native of Italian heritage. Dark, tanned skin; his face unshaven, just scruffy enough to look effortless and cool; hazily, golden-brown eyes. He was exactly the kind mean, cold-hearted high school heartthrob that women fell for. Tough and charming and intriguing.

And his handshake was just a little harder than necessary.

Jane's eyes darted quickly between Lisbon and Kings. For just a moment the stinging left ring finger was forgotten and replaced with a hard, sinking anger that bubbled from his stomach up to his chest.

Not jealousy.

Just worry for Lisbon; this guy isn't the type of man she want to be with. And by the way Kings was fracturing his metacarpal bones and Lisbon's strategically veiled discomfort, he suspected that was what was going on. Or, if not, was threatening to be going on.

Jane didn't let on his feelings; he put on his brightest, most charismatic smile and shook Kings' hand equally hard.

When the meeting was done, and pleasant small talk was made between Jane and Lisbon's new team, they all piled into SUV to head back to the office.

Weekes drove, Lisbon sat in the passenger seat and Jane sat squished between Guise and Kings in the backseat.

As they drove through the city (and sat in the traffic), Lisbon briefed him on the case.

"The killer is named the Rogue Resonant. He's a serial killer; infiltrating homes and businesses of upper class major players, stealing cash and stabbing them. His signature is twisting the knife…" Lisbon said, handing him pictures from a file that she apparently brought along. He peered at the pictures, but didn't take them. The crime scenes were all of men and woman dressed in suits and designer apparel, with gaping, bloody abdomen wounds. "And he leaves a letter every time – typed, nothing distinguishable. Signs them as the Rogue Resonant."

"So he named himself?" Jane asks, frowning.

"Yeah."

"Hmm…"

Kings frowned and looked at him. "Hmm? What does that mean?"

"Hmm? 'Hmm' is simply a sound that expresses thought. It doesn't really _mean_ anything in particular."

"Jane…" Lisbon said, warningly.

Jane sighs. "If he gave himself a name, and especially since he gave himself such an ostentatious and loud name as the Rogue Resonant, reveals him to be little more than an arrogant, self-indulging child."

"An arrogant, self-indulgent child who's killed 21 people, without leaving as much as a fingerprint of a hair follicle."

"Yeah, well…" Jane said, forgoing commenting in favor of staring out the window at the concrete jungle.

But almost as soon as his attention went to the city, his eyes darted back to the woman sitting in the passenger seat. And the two feelings returned, now simultaneous: the stinging of his left ring finger, under his wedding ring, and the sinking, aching, angry pain hovering in his chest.

And for the first time since he arrived in New York, he felt a pang of the regret. Maybe coming here wasn't the smartest of ideas.

Yes, he missed Lisbon a lot. He missed his best friend; without her it felt like there was a giant, gaping hole in the team. He missed the blazing green fire of her eyes when she's mad, the shy, pink tinge in her cheeks when she's embarrassed. Probably most of all, he missed the teasing banter and the playful smiles. (Bantering and teasing Van Pelt would do little more than earn a confused, alarmed look from her and a death glare from Rigsby. And he wasn't even going to try and build that with one of the boys; that could just get him beat up.)

But Lisbon had a whole new life here, a whole new team. She got her fresh start – which is what she wanted – and even though he never wanted her to leave, he had to respect that.

What was he really planning to achieve with this trip?

Just help her out and solve the case?

Just see his friend again?

Get her back?

He was going to have to make his mind up pretty soon.

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**REVIEWS! Need I say more?**

**Much love, Zanny**


	4. Chapter 4

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 4**

**Super-thank you's to all my fantastic reviewers. Without your kind words, my motivation would be dry and slow… Like a turtle. **

**I apologize with any inaccuracies concerning the NYPD; I write not from personal experience, but from imaginative guesswork. But… I did find out that the NYPD does not have a Serious Crimes Unit, but they **_**do**_** have a **_**Major**_** Crimes unit. Which I'm pretty sure is fundamentally the same thing.**

**In this chap: More about Rogue Resonant and… a truth about the night Lisbon left that might set your hearts at ease, dear readers.**

**Disclaimer: Oh yeah, since I last updated, I got to owning the Mentalist. NAWT. [Also no owning going on with anything about the NYPD]

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_The bullpen, NYPD_

They finally returned to the bullpen, after having introduced Jane to Lieutenant Jim Reid, the head of the department.

The bullpen was busy and messy; mounds of paperwork stacked the desks that filled it, and the ringing of phones filled the air. There was no couch.

Guise, Weekes and Kings found their desks; Jane followed Lisbon's lead and simply leant against one of the desks as means of seating. The corner of his eye saw her name written on the door of one of the many modest, glass-walled offices that surrounded the bullpen.

_Detective Teresa Lisbon_

_Supervising Detective, Major Crimes Unit_

He felt a small, slightly bitter smile tug at his lips; really, nothing much had changed. Except the city, and the people.

Her voice was the thing that snapped him back to reality.

"Jane? You okay?" She asked.

He nodded rigorously. "Yeah, I'm fine. Now tell me more about this Rogue Resonant-character. When was his last attack?"

"A little more than three months ago; he robbed and murdered a woman named Collette Ralph, the ex-wife of a Texan cattle-big shot. She got lucky in the divorce settlement, moved to New York and turned money into more money with a few good investments and minor business ventures."

"Three months…" He mused.

"He left another letter with the murder, but no fingerprints and no physical evidence."

"Three months… If he attacked three months ago and the big boys want to hand your case off to the FBI, why are you calling me in, Lisbon? How do you know he's going to act again?"

"He sent us this…" She said and handed him a sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of a letter with two large rulers – one down the left side and one at the top of the page. The letter was typed with nothing distinguishable about it.

_Hello Detectives._

_I know that by now you must be getting rather frustrated. I can't say I know how you feel, unfortunately, for I have never felt so free or relaxed._

_I'm just writing to make sure that you're not giving up on me. I do so love the chase. Don't lose hope, detectives; maybe one day you'll get me._

_You'll hear from me again sooner rather than later, I believe. I can feel the restlessness growing inside of me every day._

_Yours,_

_The Rogue Resonant_

"Hmm…" Jane said, and his eyes darted to Kings as he did – as he expected, Kings rolled his eyes with annoyance. "_Sooner rather than later_… You're right, he will strike soon. Three months is much more 'later', than I expect he was hoping for. Yes, it'll be soon… Very soon. Within the next few days, most probably."

She nodded. The rest of her team didn't seem to take his words as easily.

"Within the next few days? How could you possibly know that?" Kings asked.

"I just know." Jane said, shrugging.

"You _just know_?" He asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry, Agent Jane, but that's not detective work, that's just guessing." Weekes said with a confused smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Jane saw an amused smile tug at the corners of Lisbon's lips.

Jane chuckled, looking at Lisbon. "Just wait for it. Soon you'll see why she kept me around for so long."

When a silence fell – filled with amusement for some, and awkwardness for others – until Jane broke it himself.

"Lisbon, I'd like to talk to you in your office please. Alone. It's important." He stood up and walking briskly into her office, leaving the team behind in the bullpen.

She followed him; he could hear her light, crisp footsteps behind him.

Like the night of her going away-party, when she came to get him up in the attic.

Heel-toe. Heel-toe.

He looked her office up and down, his hands in his pockets. The walls were glass and the view obstructed only by blinds (like her office back in Sacramento). It had a woven carpet on the grey concrete floors, her awards and medals of distinctions on the walls, the picture of her brothers on her desk. There was no couch in there either, but there were two comfortable-looking chairs on the other side of her desk, so he sat in one of them.

"It's a nice office." He commented, as she closed the door and drew the blinds closed for some privacy.

"Thanks." Then she sat down in the chair behind her desk and crossed her arms. "So tell me what's on your mind, Jane."

"On my mind…" He said, chuckling. "Well, that's a loaded question considering _me_ and _my mind_, isn't it?"

"Arrogant asshole." She said, somewhat fondly. "No really, Jane. I can tell there's something up."

He hesitated. He considers calling her out on her little 'thing' with Kings. But that'll make her mad, and as much as he loves those fiery green eyes of hers, he'd rather not get his nose broken on the first day. So he said the thing that's been bothering him much more than that…

"I should've tried to make you stay." He said.

"What?" She asked.

"I said I should've tried to make you stay. That night. The night you left. I know you made your choice… And I can see you're actually happy here in New York… But it's one of my biggest regrets. Letting you leave just like that."

Her face is unreadable for a few moments. And then she smiled softly.

"You did."

Her words almost threw him off his (way too plushy) chair. "W-What?"

Her soft smile turned into something more amused. "You honestly don't remember?"

Jane shook his head in confusion; he remembered only bits and pieces of that night. He remembered going downstairs with her and drinking a beer or two, up until someone brought out the bottle of tequila. From there it's pretty much blank – he can usually handle alcohol fairly well, so he had to hit that bottle pretty hard.

But the day after, the only looks he got were sympathetic and in relation to his heartbroken expression and obvious hangover. Apparently he hadn't done anything too stupid, so he never asked.

Jane looked at Lisbon timorously. "What did I do?"

She smiled and leaned back in her chair, reveling in the new control she has over him. Even after two years of not seeing each other, they seemed to immediately fall back into the fun, bantering relationship.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes!" Jane yelled. He's spent the last two years, regretting with every fiber of his being not telling her how he felt about her leaving. Now he hears he did? Exactly _how much_ did he say?

"Alright… This is what happened…" She said with a pleased smile.

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**Right, I suddenly became nice… You're gonna have to wait for chapter 5 for that juicy little titbit! :P Also next: how Lisbon and Kings met. And no, it wasn't at work. **

**Reviews are love**

**Much of it, Zanny**


	5. Chapter 5

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 5**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! My email account is blowing up with review notifications! You guys don't just rock... You paper and scissors as well! :P Keep up the awesomeness.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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Lisbon looked over at Jane who was staring at her with a combination of nerves, fear and anticipation.

She wondered how much she should tell him. How much would he want to know? Or, more importantly, how much _should_ he know?

Her mind wandered back to that night…

X

_2 years ago, CBI building_

_It was much too late when the party broke up; long past midnight when the tipsy Agents headed home with their distinctive designated drivers. _

_She was staying behind, cleaning up the empty beer bottles, pizza boxes and paper plates. It's been quite a night. _

_Somehow somebody found the bottle of tequila that she kept in drawer from her and Bosco's case-closed tequila shots… When the bottle appeared in the conference room, it was basically full. Now she picked up the clear glass bottle and raised it to eye level. Empty. _

_Most of the contents went down the throat of none other than Patrick Jane – the same man who she had to coax out of his attic-fortress at one point. _

"_Lishbon?" She heard his voice behind her. She spun around and saw that it was indeed him, Patrick Jane, leaning against the doorframe for support. Looking very drunk indeed. She couldn't stop the lagh from escaping. _

"_Oh my gosh, Jane, are you alright."_

"_I'm perfectly fine." He said, pouting. "Why are you shtill here?"_

"_I'm just cleaning up. Listen, do you need a ride home?"_

"_I'm gonna shtay here." He said, not moving from his place by the doorframe. She had an inkling of a feeling it was because the room was spinning…_

"_Alright, suit yourself."_

_She picked up the cardboard box she had used to load the mess in and carried it off to the break room, duly deposited the contents into the bin and made her way back to her office._

_She was tired; this had been one hell of a day. She had closed her final case working in the CBI – an emotional event in itself – and then this whole party. A whole night of partying with friends that she would probably not see again in a while; walking down memory lane a few times to many. _

_All she wanted was to get home, fall into her bed and sleep all her unwanted emotion away. Tomorrow morning the moving van would stop in front of her building and come pick up the boxes currently taking up her entire living room. Tomorrow she'll be boarding the morning flight to New York. _

_Moving away._

_She didn't tell the team the real reason she was moving. She told them that she just needed a new start – which was sort of the truth. It just wasn't the whole truth._

_It started with a phone call in the middle of the night – her old college roommate, Emily. She was hysterical. Apparently Ethan, her boyfriend of more than seven years, dumped her for a buxom blonde cocktail waitress. She needed to talk to a friend, and Teresa kindly leant an ear. Soon the conversation took a turn. _

_Emily is a forensics specialist with the NYPD. "Move to New York." She said, and started listing reasons. Many of the reasons included the blonde-haired consultant that got Lisbon's name in the papers often enough for her semi-estranged best friend to find out about it. Quite a few included a serial killer with a love of smiley faces. And one included Emily's brother, Ross._

_Ross and Lisbon had always sort of had a thing for each other; whenever he came to visit his little sister where she was studying Forensic Science in San Francisco (which wasn't too often, since he was practically attached at the hip to the city of New York) they would talk for hours on the balcony of the student's apartment and drink warm beer._

_On any normal day, Lisbon would've shrugged off the arguments (even the valid ones) and kept her overly-fierce loyalty towards her team and the CBI intact. But that particular day came with a mountain of paperwork bigger than her, another argument with Jane in which she almost didn't purposely miss when she threw the stapler, and the migraine to end them all. And the arguments became overwhelmingly tempting._

_And after that she was too excited to back out – wearing NYPD blue had always been a dream of hers, though she'd never admit it. _

_She sighed now, thinking of everything that's happened. She felt sad to leave; the team had become more than just colleagues, they were friends… A family._

_And Jane was reacting very strangely. _

_Jane… She was going to miss him much more than she'd ever admit. _

_She reached her office and began gathering her usual things: handbag, phone, badge and gun… She straightened the last few things on her desk and closed all the drawers. Took a deep breath and one last long, lingering, nostalgic look at her office._

_She turned to leave, and started when she saw that her doorway was obstructed. By Patrick Jane._

"_Don't leave." He begged, and his voice was desperate and teary, like that of a child._

"_What?"_

"_Lishbon, pleashe don't leave me. I can't do thish without you, I need you here."_

_Somehow the raw emotion and sincerity behind his words were unaffected by the drunken slur of his speech._

"_Jane, listen, you're drunk and…"_

"_Lishbon, I love you." He said, tears brimming in his eyes. "I love you and I need you and pleashe don't leave." He stumbled forward to where she stood, stunned speechless, and took her face in his hands. _

_He whispered: "Pleashe…" And kissed her lips._

_His lips were as soft as she (would never admit she'd) imagined, but his breath smelled like tequila. So, with unbelievable reluctance, she broke the kiss._

"_Listen, Jane, you're drunk out of your mind. So I'm going to do you a favour and stop you. You don't mean what you're saying. It's just the alcohol and emotion talking." She saw the sadness in his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped visibly. "I'm going to miss you too. Really, I am…"_

_Before she could say anything else, a wave of nausea hit Jane and lunged himself towards her wastebasket. As she watched him wrench and empty his stomach, she took a strained breath and gathered herself. _

_Patrick Jane just declared his undying love to her. But he was drunk beyond reason, which in her experience, meant little more than he was going to miss her and was using whatever he could think of to avoid her leaving._

_She had expected some kind of outbreak from him; not like this, but the outbreak itself wasn't a surprise._

_The surprise here was the way her heart leapt when he told her he loved her. The way she felt like she was floating off the ground when he begged her to stay._

_The terribly unprofessional, totally unethical, completely forbidden, banned, unmentionable, illegal feelings that his words enlightened. _

_She crouched down to his level and soothingly rubbed circles on his back until he calmed. Then she helped him up and led him to his brown leather couch in the bullpen; she covered his limp, whimpering figure with the blanket always kept there just in case, and placed a glass of water and two aspirin by his bedside for when he woke up._

_She watched as he almost immediately fell asleep; his last, mumbled words before drifting into exhaustion were: "I love you, Lishbon…"_

_She must've stayed there, crouched beside the couch, for at least twenty more minutes. Watching her drunken consultant sleep. He looked angelic and innocent lying there, his face illuminated by the moonlight spilling from the windows._

_The she slowly got up, bent down and kissed his cheek. Her lips lingered a few moments longer than would be considered appropriate for a conventional boss-consultant relationship; but then again, when have their relationship ever been anything close to conventional?_

_As she walked out of the bullpen of the CBI for the very last time, she looked back. "Goodbye, Patrick." She whispered._

X

_Present time, Lisbon's office, NYPD_

Lisbon hesitated. She knew that if she told Jane the whole truth, she would never (ever) hear the end of it. And she really didn't want to walk that awkward road.

But there was the faint chance that Jane was pulling one on her – as he so often did – and that he remembered the whole thing. If she left out anything that he knew about, she wouldn't hear the end of _that_ either. So, really, whichever way she went, there was a risk of her being seriously screwed.

She shrugged, as she made her decision. "Don't worry about it, Jane. You just cornered me in my office and begged me to stay. You were drunk as hell; I don't blame you for any of the things you said."

"What _did_ I say?" Jane asked.

She tried to read his expression, but as usual, to no avail. Damn. The ball's in her court and it's make or break time.

Internally berating herself for the cowardice choice, she put on her most amused sneer and teased him: "Oh Lishbon, I'm going to missh you sho much!" She added the drunken slur and laughed heartily, watching as Jane's cheeks tinge pink.

Luckily, he laughed along.

"No worries, Jane. If you remember correctly, I'm quite experienced in dealing with drunk people. And I _did_ go to college, so yours is definitely not the most shocking drunken confession I've ever heard." She lied. "It's forgotten."

She waited for that teasing smile of his, the mischievous glint in his eye that said 'I got you!'… but nothing. Just a grateful smile. "Thanks, Lisbon, for being so cool about that."

She smiled back, but was careful not to show exactly how relieved she was. She got up from her chair, and started to walk back out to the bullpen. "It's a pleasure, Jane. So aren't you happy that weight is lifted off your shoulders. You _did_ make your beloved co-worker and best friend, the goddess whom you admire more than the silver full moon, the ying to your yang, the apple to your pear, the…"

"Woah, woah, woah! There is _no_ way I said all that." He said, getting up to walk along with her.

"Hell yeah, you did."

"Oh please, Teresa. You're not good enough liar to pull that fib off."

* * *

**So I tried to bring in some humour there. Hope it was a satisfying chapter… Also, I brought in how she and Kings know each other. You'll find that when Emily starts existing in this fic (and she does), you'll hopefully start disliking Ross less. I want the choice at the end (who kids, there **_**will**_** be a choice, no secret) to be hard for her. It's no competition if it's Jane against a jackass. So, though Ross may seem a little rough around the edges, you'll soon see that he's also a pretty decent guy.**

**REVIEWS! They make the world go round.**

**Much love, Zanny**


	6. Chapter 6

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 6**

**Loving the reviews! You people are rock stars! Keep on shredding! Herein you find out a little bit more about the Sacramento situation with RJ… And the current NY situation with the Resonant.**

**Disclaimers: Nothing is mine

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**

The rest of his first day was spent in the bullpen; listening to the detectives tell of the Rogue Resonant's other murders while they slowly made dents in their 'IN'-piles and getting to know them a bit better. They all went to lunch together and Jane found a little bit of familiarity in the team.

As much as he hated to admit it, Lisbon had once again made a team of police officers a family. Guise and Weekes treated her like a sister; there was teasing, inside jokes and a lot of laughter. During lunch, he kept a careful eye on Kings – the way he smiled a little too broadly at Lisbon, the way their hands lingered a little longer than necessary when they 'accidentally' bumped. The relationship dynamic between her and Kings was noticeably different than that between her and the rest of the team.

He called her Tess; there were inside jokes that only they knew about.

It made his blood boil.

When quitting time finally arrived, he left for the hotel Lisbon had set up for him.

He took a cab to the beautiful hotel, had room service alone, and lay down in the empty bed that smelled like hotel fabric softener.

As he lay with his arms folded behind his head, waiting for exhaustion to overcome him, he wondered if she was sleeping alone tonight as well.

X

Jane was woken by the shrill ringing of his phone. He was almost startled when he saw her name on the screen; it took a moment before where he was and why he was there came back to him.

"Lisbon?" He yawned. "What's wrong?"

"Good morning to you too, Jane."

"I think you mean good evening." He said dryly.

"It's seven, Jane. That's morning. And you need to get to work."

"Get to work? At…" He checked his watch and scowled. "Five in the morning? I don't get up until at least six?"

"Well, at least you're sleeping again…"

"Oh, I didn't say that. I said _get_ up, not _wake _up. And let me guess why I have to be at work at this ungodly hour? I was right…"

"Unfortunately, yes. We just got the call. Rogue Resonant has struck again."

"I'll be right over."

He hung up the phone, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. For a moment he just sat there; breathing in the air conditioned ventilation, thinking.

"And so it begins…" he whispered into the silence.

Then he slowly hoisted himself up and started deciding on the three piece suit he would wear today.

X

The crime scene was the pent house apartment of one of the oldest, most renowned buildings in New York. The victim, a forty-something heiress named Sandra Burkes. Her fortune was mostly from old oil money, her late father's clever investments and her perfume line. And by the looks of it, that was enough to maintain her flashy, ostentatious lifestyle.

The room was draped and hung with jewels and all kinds of ornate trinkets. Sandra Burkes (wearing a lacy white nightgown) lay face down in the middle of the room, her crimson blood staining the Persian carpet. Her eyes – grey and dull – stared straight ahead into nothing and her lips, painted a dainty pink, were parted in stunned shock.

The coroner tentatively turned her around so that they could examine the wound.

Visibly, the room winced in chorus. A large, gaping abdomen wound; the skin stretching vilely like a horrific, bloody pinwheel where the knife had been twisted. A painful death; slowly bleeding out in your empty penthouse apartment, your last sight watching your killer empty your velvet purse and jewelry box.

"It's him, alright." He heard Lisbon say, somewhere behind him. Her eyes were far away and glazed over; it bothered him. He, more than anyone else, should know how destructive it could be to get too close to a case like this one.

It had been more than a year since they'd last heard of Red John and he still lay away some nights; over-analyzing every detail of every time they'd interacted. Dreaming of the day that he might plunge a knife into the warm body of the coldblooded murderer; see the smug smile fade from his face and watch him slowly, painfully die. Sweet revenge…

One year, three months, seventeen days.

The last Red John murder was only months after her depart and it was the first true test of the teams capability to survive without her. They barely made it out alive that one. Not because of any major occurrence, or any stand-off or scene. More because of a lack of it. It was a cut-dry, textbook Red John murder; no twists, no turns. There were no hidden games behind this one. Jane almost thought that it was a copycat, but when Cho told him to calm down and look again, he saw no evidence of it being anything but him.

He thought he was just playing him for a fool; that soon he'd arrive back in the game with a real chase. A real chance to find him – that _was_ their game after all.

But nothing.

The scene was cleaned up, the body examined, every other possible lead followed into dead ends. And the file filed neatly with the others, ice cold.

"Jane?" Her voice snaps him back to reality – she's crouching beside the body. _When did she get down there?_ He wonders and follows her lead, crouching beside her. His nose scrunches; it smells of iron and blood.

"What do you think?" She asks.

He doesn't know what he thinks. He hasn't exactly been paying attention; his mind had wandered to his own serial killer. His own obsession, like the one he was afraid Lisbon was developing. So he quickly did an analysis.

"You're right, it's definitely him… As far as I can tell from pictures." He said.

"That's not what I meant." She said, her brow furrowing in confusion. She pointed at Sandra Burke's hand, clinched in a fist. And, by the placement of her thumb, it was fairly easy to see she was holding something in it.

_How did I miss that?_ He wondered to himself. "Why don't you go ahead and open that up for us, Lisbon?" He said, not wanting to touch the surely icy cold hand.

Always fearless, Lisbon showed no hesitation in prying the clenched fingers open and she raised the item to the light, pinched between her two gloved fingers.

"It's a chip."

"A chip?"

"A microchip. Maybe it was a personal affect? When she noticed the man in her apartment, she immediately assumed he was here for whatever's on this chip and grabbed it to protect it?"

He slowly nodded. "Maybe."

Lisbon bagged it. "Well, it's a lead. I'll have the computer guys check it out."

"Is that it?" Jane asked, getting up.

Lisbon looked around for anything else noticeable; there was nothing, just forensics people snapping crime scene pictures.

"Nope, that should actually be it for us. Why?"

He smiled brightly. "I was hoping to get a cup of tea. And since it's so early in the morning, I assume you're running low on caffeine, my dear. Want to go get some?"

* * *

**So that ended randomly, but I've never been one for last lines. You'll forgive. And review, pretty please?**

**Much love, Z**


	7. Chapter 7

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 7**

**Thanks so much for all those lovely reviews! I've said it before, I'll say it over and over again: Reviewing rock stars. **

**In this chap, enter Emily – Ross Kings' little sister and Lisbon's ex-college roommate – I mean no offense in any inaccuracies I give about Emily, who is my own creation and OCD. My information is purely internet-based.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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**

They sat in the bullpen, conversing about the case. The timeline seemed pretty tight; it was still unclear when the Rogue Resonant sneaked in and how he got in. As usual, the security cameras came up without anything significant.

Jane watched fondly at the familiar sight of Lisbon drawing a timeline on a blackboard and scribbling times and event in her chicken-scratch handwriting. Beside her crudely drawn timeline was a large-printed copy of the letter the Rogue Resonant had left at the scene, as usual.

_Dear Major Crimes Unit_

_I told you I'd be back soon. _

_I have something to confess this time (well, apart from the obvious…) – the thrill of killing is wearing thin these days. Now please don't got thinking anything silly like I'm stopping and disappearing into nothing… How mundane and boring would that be?_

_What I can tell you is that you should expect fireworks pretty soon. I know a guy who knows these things…_

_Yours faithfully,_

_The Rogue Resonant_

He was getting restless. He was getting bored.

When Lisbon had first read the letter, her expression was a mixture of relief and fear – the one, because he was pretty much deciding that soon he would end his murderous endeavor. The other, because it had to end somehow. _Fireworks_. That's not exactly a comforting statement.

Sometime, sometime soon, this was going to go down. And it was going to go down dramatically and violently.

Hopefully, that'll be before the NYPD gets fed up and hands the case over to the feds.

Jane, on the other hand, was perplexed by the letter. By the Resonant's declaration of his boredom and his promise, for all practical purposes, that he'd end it soon. From reading about him and seeing crime scene pictures, Jane already knew that the murderer had a childish need for attention – a craving for drama. He was a sociopath, who reveled in seeing his name on the front page, heading a gruesome picture of a slaughtered woman. He loved watching the news and seeing the outrage at his latest conquest. Watching the police grab at straws and chase him around New York, never really getting close enough to make him feel unsafe.

He was a psychopathic child. And they get bored quick.

Sometime or another, Jane knew that the Rogue Resonant would find the game turning boring. After all, winning all the time was no fun – you had to get a bit of a challenge once in a while. A stand-off.

But writing that in a letter to the police, giving them confirmation on exactly what they should be expecting from you was strange…

He was pulled from his thoughts when Lisbon started talking aloud – more to herself than to the team.

"So at midnight, we have Sandra Burke returning from her event… Since then the electronic lock on her door didn't record any other activity since then; that is, until the panic button was pushed just past two in the morning and security found her. So either he found another way into her apartment, or he snuck in somewhere else in the day and stayed there until her return…" Lisbon summed up her thoughts.

Jane's brow furrows. "Has any other victims had the chance to alert security?"

"No, this is the first time."

"Did you find the panic button?"

Weekes started rummaging in the file until he found the correct picture. "Yes, it was under the table."

Jane nodded slowly.

"What are you thinking?" Guise asked.

Jane shrugged. "Could be just a coincidence; a little slip-up."

"Rogue Resonant has never made slip-ups before. You think maybe he got sloppy this time?"

"Here's hoping." Lisbon said, still staring at the board.

Then, like a whirlwind, a new presence entered the room.

"Good afternoon peoples!" The girl cheerfully called. In her hand, there was a holder with Styrofoam cups – coffee. _This_ got her the undivided attention from the room. Guise, Weekes and Kings jumped up to retrieve their cups, chorusing thanks as they did.

"Tessie, you don't want yours?" The girl asked, seeing that Lisbon wasn't moving.

"Nope, already had."

The girl shrugged and started sipping on the last cup tentatively herself.

Lisbon and Jane had indeed gone for their cup of coffee – but it was at Starbucks, and in the car. Even though Jane did his best in the debate on how breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Lisbon won this round, and they drank their coffee in the traffic. _It's like a time-efficient coffee shop_! Lisbon insisted.

During all the commotion, Jane watched silently with an amused smile playing on his face.

It took her a few more moments before she noticed him. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you there! Hi, I'm Emily Kings, a forensics specialist here." She said with a bright smile.

"Patrick Jane." He said, with an equally bright smile. He reached his hand to shake, but she didn't take it. Slowly, he took it back. "Kings? You're Ross' sister?"

"Yup. And Tessie over there's ex-college-roommate."

"Really? You're much younger than her?" This earned him a death glare from Lisbon's side. He offered an apologetic smile, but made no further comment.

Emily didn't seem to notice. "I skipped a grade or two. And my birthday's late in the year, so…" She trailed off, applying chap stick.

Jane smiled politely as he observed her: a strawberry-blonde, pixie-haired girl, her hair immaculately groomed and taken out of her face with hair pins. The sleeves of her button-down shirt were neatly folded over and the cuffs buttoned with shiny white buttons. Straight, symmetrical iron-lines gave away where her shirt has been pressed. No make-up, only the chap stick which she was ferociously applying to her red-dry mouth – a common side effect of clomipramine. Emily was OCD.

His eyes went to Lisbon's and they exchanged looks.

This, Emily noticed. "Wow, she was right. We couldn't have met more than a minute ago, and you've already figured out I'm OCD. Bravo, Mister Jane, you truly are excellent at what you do."

Jane felt bashful about being caught out.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be. I make no secret of it. Everyone here knows about it. They even help me to remember to take my meds."

"Speaking of…" Ross said, getting up and starting to rummage through his drawer until he found two pill bottles. He expertly popped them open and retrieved the pills, handing them to his little sister, who offered him a grateful smile.

The showcase of sibling love made Jane do a bit of a double take. Ross Kings was never supposed to be a good person here; he's the man dating Lisbon! And, even though he's not exactly sure _what_ it is he's feeling about that, it isn't good!

After Emily downed the two pills, she retrieved the file that she had had under her arm and sat down on Ross' chair, which he had promptly given her. "So, back to business. You guys are going to love me for this."

"You got forensic evidence?" Weekes asked.

"We have a fingerprint." Emily said gleefully. "Now don't get too excited though. I already ran it through CODIS and every other database I could think of. There's no match anywhere."

"But we have a fingerprint." Lisbon said. "That's something. We've got _something_ to pin a suspect to… When we get a suspect."

"Yeah. By the way, I walked into the computer guy on the way here. You're gonna have to wait until at the very least tomorrow for them to look at the chip; they're piled miles up."

Lisbon sighed a heavy breath. "Damn. That's okay, we'll just work the details today. See if we come up with anything."

For a few moments, there was silence. Then Emily clapped her hands and got up. "Alrighty, then, if that's all you need from me, I'm off to go analyze some mobster's DNA… G'bye, guys. Mister Jane, it was nice meeting you."

And she was off.

X

It was starting to get dark and most of the agents that hustled and bustled around the Major Crimes Unit in the bullpen had already left.

Today had been a busy day – interrogating the building staff (security swore high and dry they checked every room and there was no one else hiding in the apartment), Burke's closest friends to find out if there was anyone new in her life ('Sandra had a new young thing every week. Do you think one of the country club boys could've been the killer, officer?') and squeezing every droplet of evidence they could out of the bone-dry scene. All they had was one mysterious fingerprint that matched no database on record.

Morale was running low, and energy even lower.

It was time for a well-deserved break.

"How do you guys feel about getting some dinner? My treat." Jane announced with a smile, looking over the weary faces scattered across the bullpen.

"I could really go for dinner right now…" Guise said, looking up at Lisbon for some sort of confirmation. Following his lead, all eyes turned to her.

Work more or pack up?

She contemplated silently for a moment; then she cracked a smile.

"You guys deserve a break. It's been a hell of day."

X

The dinner ended up turning into drinks – the team couldn't get a unanimous vote on a restaurant and traffic was piled up. So they opted for the bar within walking distance, which luckily also served burgers that weren't inedible.

A soft-rock song played from an unseen jukebox and low lighting provided a cozy, familiar atmosphere. Jane sat on a barstool, nursing a scotch and watching Lisbon shoot pool. Shortly after arrival, the team had started playing, placing a friendly wager on every game. Right now, Lisbon was playing Guise, and kicking his ass.

The low light was incredibly flattering on her; it accentuated the soft curve of her hip, made her ivory skin glow softly. Of course, the tequila shots she threw back like a pro and the relaxedness they brought upon her, didn't hurt either. She was smiling and laughing now, enjoying the game with her friends.

This was her team now. These were her friends.

It still hurt just a little bit to think that she moved on from the team. They never really moved on from her. Rigsby and Grace were still battling their feelings for one another, trying to move on but never succeeding. The new rookie filled a desk, but did little more. Her presence was never replaced; the big, fat, gaping hole that she left was still open, still there.

"Hey." Kings said, plopping down on the barstool beside him. He signaled the barman for another beer. "How's it going?"

Jane gave him a side glace, trying to determine his motives. Obviously, Lisbon had taken him aside somewhere during the day and asked him to be a little nicer to the visiting consultant. Try to make friends. Jane almost laughed at the idea. It was like he was the new kid in middle school and Lisbon was the teacher trying to get the cool kids not to exclude the gangly stranger.

Oh, what the hell. If he was making the effort, it would be cruel and unnecessary to shoot him down.

"I'm good. You?"

"Good."

Silence fell between the two men for a few moments. Kings' beer arrived and he gratefully took a long sip.

"So how long have you known Lisbon?" He tries to make smalltalk. Jane is relatively sure these conversation-bases were covered at his first arrival only a day ago, but whatever.

"We worked together for many years. She was the only agent in the CBI that could handle me and my… uh… indiscretions, I think they liked to call it." He said, chuckling. "She's a hell of a lady."

Kings chuckled. "Yeah, I know what you mean, man. She's been through a lot."

Jane nods. "So, Emily? Your sister. Tell me about her." He changes the subject. He didn't like the tone Kings used when he spoke about Lisbon. It was filled with too much sincere admiration; too much feeling. It was much too much like his tone towards her for his own liking.

At the other side of the bar, Lisbon was concentrating on sinking her last ball before the eight ball. She carefully aimed and then hit the ball with a powerful strike. She sunk it, and smiled victoriously at Guise, who was looking more and more troubled every moment.

She chuckled mirthfully, and then her eyes shot to the bar.

She was surprised at what she saw.

"Hey, look over there. Looks like Jane and Kings finally made friends."

Guise looked over, his intense blue gaze filled with skepticism. "Seems they have. I give it five minutes."

"Five minutes? Come on, Kings left for the bar at least twenty minutes ago. They must've been talking for just as long."

"I give it _another_ five minutes. I'll bet on it."

"You wanna bet on that, Guise?" She asked amusedly. "You don't think you're losing enough money tonight?" Her head jerked in the direction of the pool table, where he was currently running way behind.

Then suddenly a commotion turned their attention back to the bar – Jane and Kings were on the floor, hitting and punching and fighting.

"Oh my gosh!" Lisbon yelled and threw down her pool stick to go pull them apart. A sly smile tugged at the corners of Guise's mouth.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" Lisbon pulled Jane back, away from Kings, and put herself between the two men. Kings' lip was burst and his eye was hit – already, it was starting to show signs that it was going to leave a bruise.

Jane's hands were clenched to his nose, and a droplet of blood trickled down his chin.

"HE STARTED IT!" Both men chorused, angrily.

"I told you so…" Guise said softly, somewhere behind the exasperated Lisbon.

* * *

**So they fought… You'll find out why next chap! Also in next chap, Lisbon nursing Jane back to health. And possibly some crime-related drama… **

**READER: Zanny, I am really intrigued at your very strategically-worded spoilers and would like to comment/make a suggestion/motivate fast updating!**

**Z: Well, Mystery Reader, there is a simple solution to your dilemma. There's this wonderfully magical button somewhere on the bottom of your page **_**RIGHT NOW**_** that says the words: **_**Review this Chapter**_**. Click on it. The answer will magically appear!**

**Much love, Zanny**


	8. Chapter 8

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 8**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Without you guys, life is bland.**

**Disclaimer: Nuh-huh. Still nothing.

* * *

**

"Are you kidding me?" Lisbon said accusingly, dabbing his nose with a disinfectant-soaked cotton ball. "What the hell was all that even about? The one moment you two were sitting chatting at the bar, and the next you're attacking each other!"

They're in his hotel room; after breaking the fight up, the men were ordered home by a very, very angry Lisbon. Somehow he'd convinced her to come help him tend to his wounds. Now they were sitting on the hotel bed (since there was a horrifying lack of a coach), with the first aid kit between them and an angry expression on Lisbon's face.

He pouted. "I told you, he started it."

"I don't get it. Started what? What on earth could get you to do something violent like this?"

Jane dropped his eyes to avoid eye contact.

He really didn't want to answer that.

X

"_So, Emily? Your sister. Tell me about her." He said, changing the subject. _

_He and Kings were just talking about Lisbon and he didn't like the way things were going. The tone Kings used when he spoke about Lisbon was filled with too much sincere admiration; too much feeling. It was much too much like his tone towards her for his own liking._

_Kings didn't seem to mind the not-so-subtle change of subject, and for about five minutes they talked about Emily and the team and work. And then somehow the subject trickled back to the black-haired, green-eyed, pint-sized firecracker they were both thinking of._

_It started with mentions of her name, then a story or two about each man's misadventures with her. And then Kings blurted it out._

"_Did you and Teresa ever sleep together?" His tone wasn't frantic or possessive or angry. It was blunt and to-the-point, like he was asking about the weather._

_But the question almost threw Jane off his barstool._

"_N-No." He stuttered, his eyes surely as large as plates. "No, we're just colleagues. Colleagues and friends. Nothing romantic, not at all." He said. But as he said those words, his insides twisted uncomfortably and his heart sank. _

_Kings didn't seem to notice; in fact, his only reaction was the beginnings of a relieved smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He took another deep sip of his beer, finishing the bottle._

"_That's good, man. I'm sorry you were offended, or something, I didn't mean it like that."_

"_No, no, it's cool. I mean, I can understand why you'd think that. I mean, she's a beautiful woman… And we did work together for a long time."_

"_She is a beautiful woman." Kings said, staring distantly at Lisbon who was shooting pool across the room._

_Something in his eyes set off a flutter of green suspicion somewhere inside of Jane._

"_Did you?" He asked, his eyes narrowed. _

_Kings didn't look at him; his eyes remained glued to Lisbon as she bent across the pool table for the shot. It wasn't particularly salacious or sexy – she wasn't the kind of woman who'd try and gain advantage in a friendly pool game with her male piers by showing off her cleavage and posterior – but it certainly wasn't an unappealing sight. _

_But Kings answered the question, a slight smirk crossing his lips. "Well, over the years me and Tessie had gotten together a few times. On and off. What was that you said? She's a hell of a lady."_

_His words and his smirk and the suggestion that he would even come close to Lisbon, _his_ Lisbon, made Jane's blood boil. He felt heat rush to his face, flushing his cheeks, his fingers trembling slightly as they tightly curled into a fist. _

_He felt an unfamiliar anger take over him like nothing had ever taken over him before. He wasn't in control of his actions anymore – him, Patrick Jane, who was always, _always_, in control. He felt himself lunge himself forward rather than doing it himself. He felt the painful impact of the rough, hard bar floor on his knees as he landed on top of Ross Kings, his fists going for the face first. _

_But Ross Kings was much better trained and practiced in taking down a man in a fight. He was in law enforcement, after all. _

_The next thing Jane felt was his back burning as he hit the floor and Kings' fists attacking him. He brought his hands up to shield his face…_

"_Oh my gosh!" He heard her voice, shocked and angry. "What the hell do you two think you're doing?" She yelled as she pulled the two men apart._

X

"Are you ready?" She asked now, her voice suddenly much more gentle. Her fingers were placed on either side of his (slightly skew) nose.

"No."

"Well, get ready."

"Are you sure you know how to do this?"

"I'm very sure."

"This is my nose, Lisbon. The nose defines the face. And my face is my fortune, I am nothing without my face."

She chuckled, and he couldn't help but smile with her (even though his nose hurt like hell on fire and he still wasn't sure if Lisbon knew what she was doing).

"You can trust me, Jane."

She caught his eye, and smiled reassuringly. He did trust her.

"Alright."

"1…" She started counting, allowing him time to prepare himself. "2…" And before she said three, her fingers pulled his nose back into place with one swift, synchronized movement.

He gave out a little yelp, more of surprise than actual pain. Then, after a few moments, he started tentatively poking his nose, making sure it's alright.

It was.

"Wow. That's pretty impressive. Where did you learn that?"

"Around." Lisbon said, smiling secretively. He could tell she was pleased with her handiwork and that her anger from the fight had calmed.

"Around where?"

She caught his eye for a few moments, attempting to stare him out. It didn't work; instead, he stared back with equal stubborn intensity. They sat there for a few minutes.

All the while, Jane couldn't help but think how unnervingly green her eyes are; how they seemed to glow with something that he just couldn't put his finger on, something that was so uniquely Lisbon that is didn't even have a name. And he realized that that was exactly why he'd missed her so much. Why the void she left never filled. Because of that glowing tinge in her eyes.

He also noticed that her lips were full and beautiful and seemed unbelievably kissable right now… Her breath was hot against his skin, skimming across his cheek like a caress.

He felt the undeniable desire to lean closer…

She broke the trance, breaking eye contact awkwardly and opting to stare at the wall instead. "I spent a lot of time in the hospital as a kid. So one of the doctors taught me some tricks."

His mind was still a bit fuzzy and numb from the whole eyes-glow-lips-kissable-thing, so he had to bring himself back to earth when he heard her speak.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She hesitated before saying it again. "As a kid, I was in the hospital a lot. Me and my brothers." He immediately understood. His hand shifted closer to hers, which was resting on her knee, and he took it in his in silent support.

She looked up at him, surprised at his actions. "We, uh… I didn't want to talk to any social worker because I didn't want to split my brothers up. So I kept making these lame excuses and sticking to them. Nobody believed me, but that was okay. They had no proof I was lying, and that was enough to keep us home and keep us together. So then, when the trips to the hospital for dislocated shoulders and broken noses became a bit too much, one of the doctors taught me some tricks so I can take care of my boys myself if the injuries were really minor. She taught me how to make a sling, and how to clean a wound, and…" She smiled. "How to get a nose back in place. It's proven pretty useful in law enforcement." She said, chuckling.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while longer, their fingers still intertwined.

Somewhere in that time, she scooted closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. He could smell the cinnamon-scent of her hair and she was so close that he could actually feel her pulse from her neck. That desire to kiss her came back, even stronger this time.

So he decided to take a chance. He lifted her chin with his one finger until she was looking up at him, their eyes locking.

"Teresa…" He said, feeling the slight shudder travel down her body at his use of her first name. "You… you are amazing."

She said nothing, just stared into his eyes with those gorgeous green orbs of hers. He leaned in closer, closer, until he was but a breath away from her lips.

She leaned in the rest of the way, meeting him in a gentle, careful kiss. But as gentle and careful as it started out, as quickly it changed into something much more vehement and intense. Years of pent-up romantic tension, years of being apart and secret yearning, all poured out into one, magnificent kiss.

She broke first; she pulled away, panting slightly. Her eyes were frazzled and confused, her gaze jumping everywhere but his face.

"I… I'm sorry." She said, before getting up and running (running!) out of his hotel room.

He sat glued in place on the bed, like a deer caught in headlights.

X

He was lying in his bed, trying to sleep. It was early, early morning hours; any normal person would be knee-deep in dreamland right now.

But he's had a hell of a night.

Drinks with colleagues turned into a drunken fist fight; he brought the woman he loves over to his hotel room and heard a heartbreaking piece of history from her childhood; the night ended with a life-alteringly amazing first kiss with said woman he loves, ending with her running away from him.

Hell of a night.

He was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted.

But he couldn't sleep. His mind was going crazy, thinking ten million thoughts at a time, all including her. She ran from him.

His head ached, possibly from the thinking, possibly the pending hangover starting to kick in. Maybe it was both.

_Lisbon… Lisbon… Lisbon…_ She was in his head, she was _everywhere_ in his head. Somehow after only a few minutes of her leaning against him, her cinnamon scent had seeped into his shirt. And his lips still tasted of her: of the tequila shots she drank at the bar, of coffee. He was intoxicated by her presence, and her presence _left_ him. _Why did you run away, Teresa?_ He thought. _I think I love you…_

He heard a shuffling noise at his door and immediately shot up from his lying position. "Teresa?"

He ran to the door and yanked it open: no one. He was just about to slam the door shut and go wallow in his misery some more, when he noticed the piece of paper under his foot – an envelope.

Frowning, he picks it up. The sight alone almost throws him off of his feet.

A smiley face was drawn on the front of the envelope with a red marker. Hastily, with fumbling fingers, Jane tore open the envelope, running to better light to read its contents.

The letter in his hand was typed and formatted in the same way as the one that waited on his bedroom door that terrible night so many years ago…

As he read it, horror filled him to the core with every word.

_Dear Mister Jane_

_I know it's been a while, but in my defense, I haven't been in Sacramento for a while. _

_I've been here, in New York, with a friend. I'm pretty sure you've heard of him._

_Imagine my surprise when I met him completely at random – the man messing with the woman the man I'm messing with loves… It really is such a small world, isn't it?_

_I've been watching you, Patrick, and I've noticed how arrogant you've become once again. Thinking you can love again. Stupid of you, really. _

_My friend and I have come to a lovely compromise – one in where we'll both break our usual routine to achieve a much greater goal._

_It'll be magnificent – our last work of art, a collaboration! _

_Better get to her quick, Patrick. Your beautiful girlfriend hasn't got much time…

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**So… what'd ya think? Did you see that coming? Please review – I need suggestions for a dramatic chapter!**

**Much love, Z**


	9. Chapter 9

**Red Conciliation: Chapter 9**

**You guys really outdid yourselves! I came home to a flood of reviews! Loving you guys! Hope you enjoy this.**

**Also, just clearing it up, Ross isn't a double agent. Though, I do realize it could've easily come out like that. Red John's friend is the Rogue Resonant. **

**Also, sorry if I offend any New Yorkers with stereotypical views on the city. I've never been out of South African, and here taxis are overloaded, un-roadworthy minibuses, and very much in tune with the stereotypical views. **

**Disclaimer: This is so redundant. No, I don't own anything.

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She sat on her couch in her New York apartment, the one that still felt brand new after two years. It was too late for any decent person to be up, and she knew that she was going to suffer tomorrow, but sleep wasn't coming easy. Her mind was going crazy with a million thoughts at once.

Not an hour ago, Patrick Jane kissed her.

Patrick Jane, her infuriating, annoying, arrogant, charming, _beautiful_ ex-consultant. The one who had sworn his entire life to a mission of bloody vengeance and murder. The broken man she reluctantly accepted as colleague, and later as friend, years ago.

She wanted to blame the alcohol. She wanted to blame the timing – seeing an old friend after so long in a strange, new city. It being late, them being in his hotel room.

It was just a slip-up, right? It meant nothing. Less than nothing. He wouldn't even remember it tomorrow, wasted as he is…

Oh, who was she kidding? He wasn't even that drunk. If anything, he was a little tipsy.

And, even if they were both drunk out of their minds, a kiss like _that_ isn't just a kiss that means nothing. That's kiss was real, it was intense, it was intimate.

_It was amazing…_ She angrily thought, burying her head in her hands in frustration. He's amazing; she's always known it, always secretly thought from a distance how amazing he'd be in a relationship. He'd be understanding and giving and _good_.

Exasperatedly, she gets up from her seat and walks to her kitchen. What she needs right now is another stiff shot of tequila, but she's not going down that road. Instead, she'll warm up some milk and try and get an hour or two of sleep.

As she was walking to the kitchen, she couldn't help the uneasy feeling that fell upon her. Shadows seemed to appear where there was no movement; was it just her, or was there just a creak?

She shook her head, telling herself it's just in her head. This whole thing was messing her up. Seeing Jane again and Jane being… well, Jane. The whole thing with Ross…

She didn't understand why they didn't like each other – Ross was a really good guy and she liked him a lot. She thought Jane would too. But now, if this kiss really _did_ mean something more than homesickness and drunken stupidity, it all kind of made sense.

The milk started to steam and she sighed, leaning against her kitchen table, waiting. She really just wanted all of this to be over. For things to go back to normal. For Jane to be back in Sacramento so that she could secretly miss and yearn for him, in utter drama-less solitude.

She didn't hear the soft footsteps down her hall and she didn't see the shadows appearing on the wall behind her.

And the last thing she saw before the stinging pain hit her at the back of the head and everything went black, was that her milk was starting to boil over on the stove.

X

Jane ran. He ran out of his hotel building and straight into one of the yellow taxi's that were flowing down his street. The driver screeched to a halt, thankfully, just in time, and he honked his horn loudly while cursing profusely in a language Jane didn't quite recognized.

"Sorry. I need to get to this address." He handed the driver the little piece of paper that he had scribbled Lisbon's address on when he first arrived in New York. "Right now. And you have my permission to ignore all traffic laws." He said, flashing his CBI card.

The driver gave him a look that said 'As if I need permission', and sped off into the night.

As they flew through the streets of the city, Jane called Guise on his cell phone. After two, long rings, he answered with a tired, sleep-ridden voice.

"Yes?"

"Guise? It's Patrick Jane. We have an emergency. You and the team need to get to Lisbon's apartment NOW! I just received a threatening letter from Red John. He's in cahoots with the Rogue Resonant." It felt so unreal; like he was reading a comic book as a script, revealing the dangerous plots of supervillians.

"What?" Guise asked, confused.

"JUST GET TO HER APARTMENT!" Jane yelled and hung up.

They got there in no time at all, but it felt like an eternity to Jane. At every gear shift, he felt that the car was slowing so much that he'd be better off jumping out and running.

When they finally skidded to a stop in front of her building, he flew out of the building, leaving the cab driver yelling for his fee behind him. The elevator was out of order (of course), so Jane ran up four flights of stairs.

_Please don't be too late… Please don't be too late…_ He thought over and over; he felt warm tears prick his eyes.

Finally, he reached her floor and he ran down the hall to find her number.

He stopped dead in his tracks, and his blood felt icy in his veins.

Her door was ajar…

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**Man, do I love leaving cliffs! :P**

**Haha… Better review and find out what happened. Next chap will probably be the last, the truth revealed in the future as I so love doing. I really enjoyed this fic – you guys have been so awesome, reviewing throughout! I love you guys!**

**Much love, Zanny**


	10. Epilogue

**Red Conciliation: Epilogue**

**I just updated about two hours ago and ALREADY got reviews from you fantastical awesome people!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine

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_The door swings slowly on its hinges; squeaking eerily as it does. He walked in slowly and reluctantly – he wasn't sure if he could survive this again. As much as his reluctance threatened to take over him and the temptation to turn around and just run away grew, he couldn't turn. He kept walking down her hallway._

_Her apartment was messy and cozily filled. If he wasn't so distracted, he might've notice the framed pictures on her bookcase – her brothers, the old team. He might've seen the origami frog carefully placed on one of the books. He does, however, notice her badge and gun on the coffee table and bends down to take her gun in his hand – cold and heavy and absolutely necessary, he knows._

_He walks past her open-plan kitchen and notices the black-burnt saucer on the stove and the spot of crimson blood on the tiles. His heart fell hard into his shoes. _

_Blood._

_He walks further on, towards her slightly ajar bedroom door, with the yellow light seeping out from below. Deafening silence fill his ears; the only sound, his own footsteps on her hardwood floors._

_He feels the dread building up more and more with each echoing step. He wasn't aware a person could take so much horror – the dark familiarity stung him. _

_He reached the door, stretching his hand to open it. _

_Blood…_

_Oh, blood, so much blood…_

_Vivid, scarlet pouring out of painstakingly meticulous slashes; the large, twisting gash in the abdomen; staining the white sheets, staining her ivory skin._

_And that taunting face glaring down, so self-satisfied…_

He wakes in a cold sweat_, _heaving out uneven pants of breath. His hands immediately fly to his face, running his fingers across his clammy skin and through his soaked hair.

_A nightmare… It was just a nightmare…_

"Jane, is everything okay?" She asks. Her voice is husky and sleepy.

He turns to his side to see her, make sure she's really there and not just a cruel figment of his imagination.

He lets out a deep breath of relief when he's reassured of her presence. She's alive… She's fine…

_It was just a nightmare… They never killed her… I got to her in time, she's fine… _

She lies beside him, her sleepy green eyes filled with concern. The moonlight pours through the window, making her ivory skin which peeks from beneath the sheets glow.

"I'm fine. I just had another nightmare."

"Sweetie, it's been more than a month. I'm here, I'm okay." She says, sitting up so she can move in behind him. She lies against the headboard so that he can lean against her chest and rubs his shoulders soothingly. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to someone? I mean, it's only normal to be traumatized by something like that…"

"I walked in on two notorious serial killers standing above the woman I love with knives and cruel faces. Yes, I think I'm traumatized." His tone wasn't callous or uncaring. "But I'm not seeing anyone. You're the only one I need."

"Jane…" She said.

He smiles lightly. He knows she's worried about him, but not nearly as much as he's worried about her. He slides down until his head is lying on her chest and his arms are wrapped tightly around her slender waist. He can still feel the scar on her stomach; where one of them got to her before he shot them. It's still unclear whose knife it was that tore her stomach. But it doesn't even matter anymore, because both the potential culprits were six feet under right now.

The scar remains… The horrifying reminder of that night. He remembers rushing her to the hospital, watching through the window as the doctors in the emergency room crowded around her, yelling commands. He remembers getting yelled at thoroughly by almost every doctor and nurse in the building for asking how she was every five seconds…

But she was okay. They performed emergency surgery and she made a full recovery. And in no time, Jane had learnt to love her scar as well, even if it reminded him of the night he almost lost her. Because it was now part of her.

"I love you so much, Teresa." He murmured against the skin of her chest. "And I'm sorry you have to put up with me and my nightmares."

She scoffed, as he knew she would. "Don't be an idiot. It's not your fault…" And then softer, gentler. "And I love you too, Patrick."

"Did you think we'd end up like this? That night, when I kissed you?"

"Did I think I'd be attacked by two psychopathic, murderous maniacs and you'd save me and convince me to move back to Calirfornia? No, I can honestly say that thought never crossed my mind." She said, half-jokingly. He couldn't help the smile; her wit always made him feel better, even after a nightmare like this one.

"Will you be honest with me for a moment?" He asks.

"I'm always honest with you."

"I mean specific to this question I'm about to ask." Her fingers had moved to his hair, and he smiled softly when she started twisting one of his curls around her finger. "Would you have chosen me?"

He felt rather than saw her frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you weren't attacked that night and I hadn't been there and saved you. If you just warmed your milk and went to sleep and woke up the next morning without any scars or stitches or emotional trauma. Would you have chosen me over Kings and New York?"

She thinks about it for a few moments. "I honestly don't know. I mean… I loved you. I knew that much. And I wanted to… But I'm not sure if I'd have taken the risk of falling for you and moving back here if it wasn't for the motivation…" She says.

He smiles because he knows she's being honest.

They fall into a comfortable silence, just holding each other. Several moments pass.

Then: "Yes."

He looks up at her, confused. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I would've gone with you. Even if none of that ever happened and everything was okay… I think I still would've gone with you, Patrick. I love you." She says, looking down at him, their eyes meeting in an intense gaze.

A bright smile takes over his face and he feels all the dread of the nightmare dissolve away. Pure, unadulterated happiness took its place.

"Marry me."

For a moment, she was silent, her eyes wide with shock. "What?"

"Marry me." He stated again, his smile not leaving his face. "I love you, Teresa. You love me. Make me the happiest man alive and marry me."

"Wha-?" She gasped. He pulled himself up and lay beside her, leaning on his one arm as he waited for an answer.

"Yes." She said. And equally bright smile lit up her face. "Yes, I'll marry you!"

He leaned in and kissed her lovingly, cupping the back of her head as he did. Her hair was silky smooth under his fingertips as she smiled into the kiss.

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, as the kiss deepened.

The last coherent thought that passed through Patrick Jane's mind, slipped through.

_No more nightmares tonight._

END

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**So that was it. I know it started out angsty, but I think it ended pretty fluffy and romantic there… Thanks so much to all my loyal reviewers. I'll miss this fic dearly; it was certainly one of my fics that were most fun to write. And each one that reviewed has a share in that! You guys are rock stars and never forget it! **

**All my love, Zanny X**


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